


Promises

by slimecrime



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I feel like I write too many fics about Lio being sad I’m sorry, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimecrime/pseuds/slimecrime
Summary: Galo reconciles with not always being able to help Lio.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 5
Kudos: 129





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Look it is the same fic I write every week

In the middle of the night, normally decorated only by the soft chirping of insects outside of the window and the occasional whir of a single passing car, all of the quiet is swallowed up by ragged breathing. 

Galo leans over his partner’s shaking body in the dark. His eyes are heavy and barely awake, vision blurry and swirling. His hands sink into the mattress on either side of a thin and wiry form, twitching bones and muscles and skin difficult to parse in the moonlight. 

“Lio, it’s okay. It’s okay. What’s wrong?” 

He knows what’s wrong. He’s done this before. He’s seen him like this before. He’s seen his hands clutching at his chest and neck and hair like this. He’s seen him gulping useless and overzealous breaths back into his mouth like this. 

He’s seen it exactly twice so far, though he knows it’s happened more than that. 

And he has the training to know what to do. Galo knows he has to stay calm for him, and not overwhelm him. That’s what his training for dealing with panicked survivors says. He knows that’s what he has to do.

But his own heart beat is thunderous and his vision is blurry and wet. 

His hand strokes over Lio’s cheek, his thumb wiping away fastly accumulating tears. 

“Lio, it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re in bed. It’s alright.”

Galo watches his mouth draw in quick and deadly breaths. He watches his ribs rise and fall under his oversized t-shirt. He sees his own tears fall on the stiff tendons in Lio’s neck.

“It hurts so much. It hurts so much. I can’t tell you how-“ He is cut off by his own breaths. “I can’t tell you how much-“

Galo desperately runs his hands through his blonde hair. 

“I know,” he says. “I know. But it’s over now. No one can ever do that to you again.”

He isn’t helping. He isn’t doing him any favors. 

“No one is ever gonna hurt you like that again,” he tells him. “No one can ever do that to you again.” 

There is a knock at the bedroom door, then. Galo tears his gaze away from Lio’s sobbing face for just a moment. He stares at the patterns in the wood door and how it seems to frizz and warp in the dark. They knock again. 

“Can I come in?”

Lio’s breathing is not any more under control. 

“Yeah,” Galo says, unsure what other options he has. 

Meis opens the door and walks with calm determination toward the bed. Galo is a little taken aback by his bony hand, decorated in fading stick-and-pokes, lightly touching his shoulder. 

“I know you’re an emergency responder but you seem to be struggling. Do you mind if I take over?” 

His face is thin and skeletal in the moonlight. Galo, despite how often he is here and how often he sleeps in Lio’s bed and has breakfast in their kitchen, has never gotten particularly close to either Meis or Gueira. He’s gotten drunk with them a few times, and he considers them friends, but he doesn’t really have with them what Lio has.

He’s also never gotten over being a little wary of both of them.

Galo gets off of Lio. He then realizes that he was on him, over him, smothering him. He scoots over to one side of the bed as a rock settles into his stomach. His jaw tightens.

“Why don’t you go to the kitchen and get something to drink?” Meis says softly.

Galo doesn’t move just yet, still far too overcome with some mysterious and heavy weight. 

He watches as Meis leans over Lio, carefully, and stares into his eyes.

“I’m going to lift you, okay?” He tells him slowly.

And then he waits for a moment for Lio to nod. And then he scoops him up against his chest. Lio’s long, thin limbs hang limply, all the bones and muscles in his arms and the veins in his hands catching pale in the moonlight. His thin t-shirt hangs loosely from his back and reveals flashes of the ridge of his spine.

Galo sits very still as Meis carries him out of the room and into the hall. He sees him push open the bathroom door and sit him down on the closed toilet seat. A bright light is flicked on just before he closes the door again.

Galo swallows.

He sits very still in Lio’s quiet bedroom, on his rumpled bedspread. His head is swirling fast and his jaw hurts from how tightly his teeth are clenched. All he can remember is him screaming, screaming, screaming, and dying surrounded by blinding light. All he wants to do is make it stop. He can still hear his muffled sobbing from behind the bathroom door. All he can do is watch shadows move in the glowing space just above the floor. 

In the dimly lit hall, another door creaks open, and another figure emerges to investigate the scene. He cautiously and quietly knocks on the bathroom door. He turns the handle slowly and opens it just enough to stick his head in and whisper. A strip of bright fluorescent light halos his red hair and shines down the hallway. 

Lio’s crying is momentarily less muffled, brought into an alarming fullness that stabs Galo in the chest.

Galo swallows again.

And then the door closes, and the other person turns to stare down the hall at Lio’s open room. Then he disappears into the kitchen.

In a few moments, though, Gueira is standing in the soft blue light streaming in from Lio’s window. He shuts the door behind him. Then he walks quietly over to the bed to sit down with Galo. He hands him a cold can of soda.

“How’s it going? You doing okay?”

Again, Galo hasn’t gotten that close with either of these two. 

“Is Lio alright?” is all he can think to say in response.

The insects outside are particularly loud tonight. The full moon is so bright, glowing white against his back.

“He’ll be okay, don’t worry. We know how to handle this kind of thing,” Gueira assures him, snapping open his own soda. “Lots of years corralling scared displaced Burnish all over the place. He’ll be okay.”

Galo thinks on that for a moment, and on how much training he has in helping people, and how he’s supposed to be good at this too. He knows how to handle this kind of thing, too. He knows how to take care of Lio, too. He should’ve been able to handle it too.

“Are you doing alright, though?” Gueira asks again, taking a sip.

Galo holds the cold can in his hands and just wonders if he can answer. He isn’t used to sincerity coming from this guy. He’s used to him sort of play-harassing him and joking and taking drunk pisses in bushes. He’s seen him be nice to the other Burnish, of course. He’s seen him be very, very nice to Lio, too. 

But he’s never really talked to him like this.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, unsure.

Gueira shrugs and drinks his soda.

“Look, it makes me upset to see him like that too,” he tells Galo. “It brings a lot of the bad shit back up for me any time him or Meis starts going through it, and I know it upsets Meis when I do it and etcetera etcetera etcetera.” 

Galo opens his own soda and takes a long drink. 

“And it’s hard seeing Lio go through anything like that,” Gueira continues. “He’s never really been too open about stuff. Back when we were still the Mad Burnish, he usually slept alone, didn’t talk unless it was about plans, didn’t seem to want anyone to know he was even a real person outside of his leadership role.”

Galo taps the side of the can. His eyes trail all over Lio’s room, at the messy pile of clothes pouring out of his closet, at the sparsely decorated walls. He has very little outside of the necessities. He seems to really only indulge himself in outfits, things he can keep on his person.

“It’s kind of nice and kind of weird to live with him like this,” Gueira admits. “It’s good to know he’s a person under all that shit but it hurts to see him like this.” 

Galo sighs. 

“I should be able to help him,” Galo says. “I know how. And I promised him I always would. I told him I’d always be there for him. I don’t know.”

Gueira just shrugs.

“You can’t really promise people stuff like that,” he says with a click of his tongue. “But you’re not the only one looking out for him. You’re doing alright. You’re like, what, you said, 24? Don’t worry about not always being able to talk him down from this type of thing. Come on…” 

Galo grips the can a little tighter, letting it pop under his fingers. He takes another drink. 

“I want to be there for him, and anyone else,” he says. “I want to be able to help people. I don’t want people to suffer.”

Gueira laughs just a little. Galo glares at him.

“Sorry, I’m not laughing at that. That’s a good thing to want. It’s good to wanna help people,” he says quickly. “You’re both just like this. Like, opposites but the same. It’s funny, is all.” 

Galo hopes that’s a compliment, and decides to take it as such. 

“I’m gonna get better at helping him,” he tells Gueira. “It’s fucked up to see him cry like that. It’s disgusting. It pisses me off. Not at him, but like, at, at-”

“I know.”

“At _him_.”

They both sit quietly for a moment. Neither really want to pick up this discussion from that particular point. There’s nothing to say that isn’t unspoken and sickening. There’s nothing to say that isn’t obvious.

“But uh.” Gueira clears his throat. “Do you wanna get some fresh air or something? I know we don’t talk, but we could go for a walk, and get some chips or something. Calm down, or whatever. It’ll give them some time too.” 

Galo thinks and takes a sip of soda.

“Yeah, alright.”

\------

Lio cups his hands under the faucette and lets them fill with cool water to splash up onto his face. The cold sensation feels bright and good, if not a bit shocking. He takes a few deep breaths. His eyes and nose sting, and his throat feels tight and raw. 

Meis hands him a towel as water drips off his face and bangs. He presses his face into it and apologizes profusely. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, again and again. “I’m better than this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Meis says. “I won’t tell anyone and I don’t give a shit. It’s alright.”

Lio finds his hairbrush on the shelf next to the sink and starts to straighten out his bedhead. His eyes are pink and puffy in his reflection, and he has to take a moment to blow his nose. Meis hands him the roll of toilet paper. (again)

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Meis says again. 

Lio frantically brushes his hair, and then finds the cloth headband he keeps in the medicine cabinet. He slips it over his head and pushes his bangs away from his face.

“I’m calm. I promise I’m calm,” he says as panic and tears and sobbing threaten to overwhelm him once again. How many times has he gotten so close to calming down tonight just to have it knocked over by a hideous new wave of tears? How many times is he going to keep doing this? How much does he have to fucking cry?

“Take your time,” Meis tells him.

Lio turns around and sits down on the floor with his back against the cabinet under the sink. He stretches his legs over the bath mat as far as they’ll go until they are stopped by the edge of the tub. (Which is not very far in their tiny, cramped, bathroom.)

Tears start dripping down his face and his nose starts running again against his will. He looks away from Meis, who puts the roll of toilet paper in his lap. Lio winds a piece around his hand and tears it off. He looks down at the floor and desperately tries to clean off his face.

His hands are still shaking.

“Thank you for dealing with this,” he says. “Thank you for constantly dealing with this.”

Meis shrugs from his seat on the edge of the bathtub. 

“Not to sound nihilistic but nothing matters at this point. You can cry all you want,” he says. He leans down on his knee, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “I’m sure you’re through with pep talks at this point, but I promise it doesn’t offend me for you to be like this.”

Lio just stares at his feet against the tub. His eyes feel heavy and tired.

“I think I’m alright now,” he says. “You can go back to bed if you want.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” he replies.

“Okay,” Meis says, not standing up just yet. “I’ll leave you alone for now. Text me if you wanna talk or anything.” 

“Okay,” Lio says.

And then Meis slowly gets up, stretching his back. He steps over Lio’s legs and makes his way out the door. He shuts it quietly behind him. And then Lio is alone on the bathroom floor.

He leans his head back against the cabinet and stares up at the ceiling. He swallows.

He spends a few minutes-- he doesn’t know how many--- just staring into the patterns of the texture of the paint on the ceiling. His heart rate is much more normal, now, and the illusion of pain has dissipated. However, there is still an ache that flows through all of his body, one that hangs about in varying degrees of relentlessness even on his best days. There is very little that can be done about it, and the web of potential causes is vast and twisting.

Is it just from anxiety? Is it from the core? Is it from the absolute zero bullet? Is it from any number of injuries he sustained that day? Is it from the promare leaving his body empty? Is it just from him not being as physically active? Is it from all of his previous trauma? Is it from all of the many, many injuries he’s sustained throughout his messy and miserable existence? 

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. No causation particularly affects any treatment.

There is, fortunately, solid evidence of nerve damage in his hands and feet from when they’d been fried off. That was the only certainty he had. 

Otherwise, he was just imbued with horrific memories that seemed to resurface whenever they pleased. Otherwise, all he had was a terrible, horrifying ghost beating him in the face, shooting him in the chest, tearing him apart, killing him, killing him, killing him-

Otherwise, he was alone on the bathroom floor.

He closes his eyes and swallows one more time. 

He gets up and his knees creek. 

He brings the roll of toilet paper with him to the kitchen and sets it on the cluttered table. 

He finds a package of cookies in the cupboard and sits down in a chair.

He pulls open the plastic and eats one, very slowly. He finds himself idly crying again. 

After a few minutes, he jumps as the front door opens. His heart flares and all of his muscles tense and he whirls around in his seat, clutching the back of his chair, thinking about exit strategies, fight strategies, potential weapons, how easy it would be for him to get to the kitchen knives-

And then he hears Gueira’s laugh and he relaxes. 

Galo’s distinct footsteps as he takes off his boots mingle with their conversation. He hears the two of them talking about something, something near nonsense. A joke. They’re just joking. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just Gueira and Galo. He wasn’t aware they left. 

They come into the kitchen quickly and boisterously.

“Oh, hey- Hey, Lio. Lio-” Galo says when he sees him. “How’s it going?” 

He stops to stand next to him as Gueira squeezes past him with a grocery bag. Lio watches him go to the fridge to put away several cans of tea. Then his eyes are back to Galo’s face, which is wildly concerned as usual.

He sits down in the chair next to his.

“I’m gonna go back to bed,” Gueira says. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

“Okay, goodnight,” Lio says wearily. 

He gives him a final look before disappearing into the dark hallway, leaving him alone with Galo again. There’s a moment where Galo rustles through his bag of groceries. He pulls out a bag of chips and a drink and a few other things.

He hands Lio a package of snack cakes and an iced tea.

“Got these for you…” he says. 

Lio takes them and tries not to feel guilty.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m sorry for waking you up like that.”

Galo shrugs and opens his chips.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “I love you, for fuck’s sake. We’ve gone over this.”

Lio nearly melts and undoes all of his progress in stopping himself from crying, but manages to give him a soft smile. He opens the package of snack cakes and takes a grateful bite. They taste soft and sweet and creamy and cheap and they’re his absolute favorite.

“I also got you these,” Galo says. He opens a second grocery bag and shows Lio the contents.

It is about a dozen more different snack cakes.

“Galo, I don’t need-” He nearly tells him. Then he changes his mind. “Thank you.”

He puts the bag up on the table. It’s all of his favorite kinds. He stops himself from thinking too hard about how he’s going to prevent himself from eating them all at once.

Galo drags his chair over closer to him, and his arms are quickly winding themselves tightly around his shoulders. He kisses him firmly, meaningfully on the cheek and then on the lips, and then the forehead. He crushes him into his sweatshirt that smells so sweetly of him. 

He wishes he could just bury himself into his chest and never leave. 

He also becomes idly aware that the sun is coming up.

Galo kisses his hair and loves him into pieces that he isn’t sure he deserves. In fact, he’s pretty certain he doesn’t. He has far too many flaws to swallow before he’ll be able to let himself feel like he deserves any of this, from any of them. He spent all that time alone for a reason. 

But he lets him love him anyway. He lets him coax him up from his seat after he finishes his snack cakes. He lets him guide him back to his bed. He even lets him pull the covers over him and wrap him up in his arms. He lets him kiss him goodnight. He lets him tell him he loves him.

“I love you too,” he responds, quietly, unthinkingly and sincerely.

And, unfortunately, regardless of his will, he starts to cry again. This time quietly, and this time held tightly in Galo’s arms.


End file.
